chapter 3
833 Words
CHAPTER 3
Sandra needed a break.
Lunch had hollowed her out—the forced laughter, Emily’s watchful glances, Harvey’s easy presence, and Tim’s silence, sharp as a held breath. The tension followed her as she left the table, crawling beneath her skin. She grabbed her tennis racket and headed for the courts, desperate for something simple. Movement. Rules. Control.
The courts were almost empty.
Except for Tim.
He stood near the baseline, bouncing a ball against his racket with effortless precision, like the space belonged to him by right. He glanced up when she stepped onto the court, his expression cool, unreadable.
“Well,” he said, voice flat. “Didn’t expect you. Thought you’d be busy entertaining Harvey and Emily.”
Sandra’s fingers tightened around the handle. “I needed space.” She paused, then added evenly, “And I play tennis.”
Tim studied her for a moment, then smirked. “Do you?” He tilted his head. “Because if you’re in my way—”
“I can leave.”
He shook his head slowly. “No. I dare you to stay.”
Something inside her hardened.
“Fine,” Sandra said. “Let’s play.”
He tossed her the ball, careless. The match began.
From the start, Tim played aggressively—sharp serves, angled shots meant to dominate. He muttered under his breath, just loud enough to reach her.
“Too slow.” “Keep trying.”
Sandra shut him out.
Her breathing steadied. Her body remembered what her mind tried not to. Tennis had always been refuge—clean lines, earned victories. She anticipated his shots, returned his power with discipline.
Footsteps slowed beyond the fence.
One student stopped. Then another. Murmurs rippled as the rally stretched on.
Sandra versus Tim.
Tim’s confidence cracked when she chased down a difficult return and sent it back clean. His jaw tightened.
“Huh,” he muttered. “Didn’t expect that.”
She served again.
Hard. Precise. The ball cut sharply down the line.
Tim lunged—
Missed.
Silence swallowed the court.
Tim straightened slowly, chest heaving. His gaze locked onto Sandra—not furious, not impressed, but sharp with something unsettling.
With sudden violence, he hurled his racket across the court. It clanged against the fence.
As he passed her, close enough that she caught his breath, he stopped.
“True colors,” he said quietly. His eyes swept over her face, knowing. “Finally out.”
Then he walked away.
The whispers erupted.
Sandra stood frozen, heart pounding. The win felt real—but so did the chill he left behind. Had he meant the match? Or something else entirely?
Later, near the dorms, Monica found her.
“You beat him,” Monica breathed, eyes wide with awe. “Everyone’s talking about it.”
Sandra shook her head. “I didn’t plan it.”
“That’s what makes it worse—for him,” Monica said, grinning. Then she softened. “Just… be careful, okay? People here don’t like surprises.”
Sandra nodded. She knew.
By dinner, the attention had hardened into something heavier.
Whispers followed her through the hall. When she reached the table, Emily looked up slowly.
Her smile was thin.
“Well,” Emily said coolly, “that was unnecessary.”
Sandra stiffened. “What was?”
“Embarrassing Tim like that,” Emily replied. “You didn’t have to humiliate him in front of half the school.”
“I didn’t humiliate him,” Sandra said, heat rising. “We played.”
Emily laughed softly. “You could’ve stopped. But you didn’t. Funny how you always seem to end up in the spotlight.”
Sandra’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask for attention.”
Emily leaned back, eyes sharp. “Please. First Harvey, now tennis. Are you trying to prove something? Or is attention just your thing?”
The table went quiet.
Sandra felt exposed, stripped down to rumor and assumption. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Emily tilted her head. “I know an attention-seeker when I see one.”
“That’s enough.”
Harvey’s voice cut through the silence.
Emily turned, startled. “Harvey—”
“No,” he said calmly. “She didn’t do anything wrong. Tim challenged her. She played. End of story.”
Emily’s lips pressed together. “You’re defending her?”
“I’m defending fairness,” Harvey replied. “And if Tim couldn’t handle losing, that’s not her fault.”
Sandra stared at him, surprised.
Emily stood abruptly. “Fine. Keep pretending this is innocent.” Her gaze flicked to Sandra, cold and deliberate. “But people don’t rise this fast without secrets.”
She grabbed her tray and walked away.
The table remained silent.
Sandra’s appetite vanished.
She had won on the court.
But here—where power was quieter and cruelty more precise—she felt the cost of being seen.
North Rise had noticed her.
And it was already sharpening its knives.
- Writer
